Happy Birthday, not. 18 December 1994, Wulhide, Berlin.


Life is fully at the bottom edge.

But if that is the case it can only get better.

I hope.

For my birthday I have gained a little distance from the situation. A little space. At the moment it is freezing cold (-25C). No burner…that works and no water plan yet.

I am going to phone Dad tonight and be honest, tell him the whole sad story and see what he thinks I should do….but my instinct is to stay here a while.

It is already a new ‘home’ somehow.

a) I could return to the U.K. for Christmas. Spend time with the family and start again over there (and then have to deal with all the bullshit re-how I never do anything with my life and constant criticism.)

b) I could get my money sent and just go to Australia/India (then have to deal with all the guilt and ‘conditions’ that come with that ££…)

c) I could stay and try to find work in Berlin, struggle through and come out stronger for it. Renew the Berlin experience. Sweeten the memory.

If I stay I must:

Do something with Millie’s remains. Take photos etc.

Go to the police with Silka and file a complaint re-the other driver.

British Embassy.

Sort out a burner and a door handle.

Go to Brooklyn and M. Strasse.

Chop wood.

Make a tub of wood and a pile of kindling for under my wagon. Fix the stove pipe.

Now….go and make myself some breakfast. Oooo…its Sunday. Go to Brooklyn and get a breakfast there.”


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